


You Will Be My Resolution

by arabellavidal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Book & Show Combination, F/M, Gendrya (implied), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SanSan (implied), Season/Series 07 Spoilers, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabellavidal/pseuds/arabellavidal
Summary: Jon readies to embark upon his mission beyond the Wall to capture a wight for the two Southron Queens. A raven arrives for him at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea from the Lady of Winterfell prompting reactions from the group around him.





	1. Band of... Acquaintances?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Standard la-de-dah about the characters and universe not being mine but Martin's and HBO. Not happy with HBO right now but at least their writers are 'nice' enough to give me ideas to, er, 'improve' the show's narrative without getting the tons of money that D&D do.

Jon looked around at the men dining at his table in Eastwatch's great hall and wondered at their disparity. Ser Jorah was Jeor Mormont's son, whose actions had so shamed his father that he had joined the Watch after Ned Stark had exiled Jorah from Westeros. Yet he was close to the Dragon Queen and her representative in this mission. Jon was still puzzling over that closeness and what it meant that it was between a former slaver and one who called herself the Breaker of Chains.

Robert Baratheon's bastard, Gendry seemed unnaturally eager to claim his friendship in their fathers' name. Jon had a feeling Gendry had a deeper motivation for proving himself. He found it odd that a bastard whose father had essentially abandoned him would not hold a grudge. Jon had not yet forgiven Ned for depriving him of his own mother and her identity. Yet he had raised him with his true born children, acknowledgement and rearing that had given him huge advantages in the Night's Watch. Despite his suspicions of Gendry's hidden motive, Jon could not detect any ill will towards himself. No, that was directed towards the Red Priest and the Lightning Lord.

They were a strange pair but their closeness was no mystery. They had fought together for years to rid the Riverlander smallfolk of the perfidies that war had inflicted upon them. He had learnt that they had been part of a larger brotherhood formed by his father when he was Hand to King Robert, to capture Gregor Clegane when he was harrying the Riverlands. If Jon had not himself died and been resurrected by a Priestess of Rh'llor, he would not have believed their tale of Beric having been killed six times and brought back as many times by Thoros. It had created a bond between the two that Beric referred to, half-jokingly, as one of mother and child.

Strangely enough, they had been traveling with a Lannister bannerman and Gregor Clegane's brother, Sandor, who had been responsible for one of Beric's deaths. Apparently he had deserted from his post as Kingsguard to Joffrey the night of the Battle of the Blackwater which the Lannisters had won. The Hound was a mystery. Jon had met him before when he had come to Winterfell as Joffrey's personal bodyguard. He had been intimidating with his tall, muscular frame, his vicious scars and constant sneer. He seemed much the same even now yet Jon could detect a softening beneath the fierce, cynical exterior that he hadn't felt the last time. Jon wondered what could have changed the famed Hound of the Lannisters into abandoning them and agreeing to accompany their enemies on their quest North of the Wall. He wondered what Sansa would make of a former Lannister henchman being part of their group to capture a wight for Cersei.

Jon sighed as he thought of his sister managing alone in Winterfell. He had no doubt of her competence but he hoped that Lady Brienne and Ghost were watching over her. Lord Baelish had a habit of finding her alone and taking up her time. Whenever Jon had come across him engaged in a seemingly private conversation with the Lady of Winterfell, it had seemed as if Baelish had looked rather smug and triumphant to be discovered thus. Jon gripped his spoon tightly, wishing he had throttled his puny neck harder and given him a well-deserved kick in his privates. That would have dampened his lust nicely. He hoped Arya and Bran's presence served as further deterrant.

'Soup not to your liking, your Kingliness?' Tormund nudged him.

'What?'

'The food, lad! What did it do to you that you're glaring at it?'

'Oh,' Jon became aware of his surroundings once more. 'Nothing. I was just thinking.'

As Tormund opened his mouth once more to speak, the maester at Eastwatch came to stand beside Jon and handed him a small, sealed scroll.

'For you, sire. It just arrived.' The maester nodded at him and left to sit at another table, ready to send a reply if Jon wanted.

Jon's heart thudded with anticipation and dismay when he saw the seal. It was Sansa's and he knew at once that she had received his last raven from Dragonstone telling her about his mission beyond the Wall. He knew she would not be pleased. He had hoped to have evaded her reply by departing as soon as possible but they had been delayed on the way from Dragonstone to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea by a series of squalls that had thankfully not turned into thunderstorms. Their ship had arrived a day later than he had planned and that had apparently been enough for Sansa to receive his raven and send off this reply.

As he sat there quietly contemplating whether to read the letter or not, Ser Davos enquired from his other side, 'Who's it from, your grace?'

'Is it from Queen Daenerys?' Mormont asked eagerly.

'His face is as red as my beard,' Tormund guffawed. 'I bet it's from his sister and he knows she'll be ringing a peal over his head at this new scheme of his. Keeps him on his toes, the Lady of Winterfell does.'

'Lady Arya?' Gendry startled Jon with his question. Jon looked at him, curious as to how Gendry knew his little sister's name. He noticed that Beric, Thoros and the Hound weren't surprised at this and appeared to be waiting for his answer.

'No. Not Arya, though she is at Winterfell too. How do you...?'

'The little bird is in Winterfell?' the Hound's rasp interrupted him.

Jon swung around to face him, 'The little bird?! Arya? How do you even kn...?'

Sandor Clegane burst into a fit of loud, rough laughter. Jon gaped at him.

'Not the wolf-bitch. The pretty, sweet-smelling one,' he replied, looking happy for perhaps the first time anyone at the table had seen him.

Jon glared at him and would have launched himself at the Hound but Ser Davos wound both his arms around Jon's left one to restrain him. Surprisingly, Gendry had already tackled the Hound, taking him unawares. He was now trying to land facers on his large opponent while angrily tussling with him on the floor as everyone else looked on in astonishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I did not expect this chapter to end in a bout of fisticuffs but Sandor, Gendry and Jon just would not behave. Sansa's letter will have to wait till the next chapter, if anyone is interested. Cheers.


	2. His Sisters' Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! All those lovely comments and kudos! Thank you all so much! You made my day! The bookmarking has made my head swell! Here's another chapter for the lovely people of this fandom!

The Hound was still in a good mood and seemed to be having a grand time playing with the bastard boy rather than putting much force in his punches. He eventually pinned Gendry to the floor, restraining his arms. 'Don't call her that! She's a lady!' Gendry snarled at him.

Jon stared at him in complete astonishment. The Hound grinned down at him. 'Not enough manners to be called a lady. But she is as fierce as a she-wolf,' he said with pride. Gendry stopped struggling and smiled slightly as if in recollection.

Jon shook off Davos' grip and stood up. 'Enough of this, both of you! You, Gendry! Explain how you know my sister!'

They got up and faced him. Gendry shamefaced, the Hound unrepentant.

'I met the Lady Arya as we traveled with Yoren of the Night's Watch from King's Landing to the Riverlands. That's where we met the Brotherhood without Banners. I've never even seen the Lady Sansa,' Gendry admitted cautiously.

'That's where I ran across the little wolf, too. Took her from these careless bastards,' Sandor Clegane tossed his scarred head at Beric and Thoros who were watching the whole scene as if it was an interesting play, 'and tried to take her to her mother and then to her aunt but both of them were dead before I could; and then she ran away when the Tarth wench nearly murdered me. Haven't seen her since.'

Before Jon could interrogate him further about his comments on Sansa, Tormund sprang up and faced the Hound. 'Brienne of Tarth?'

Davos rolled his eyes, Jorah looked befuddled and the Hound even more amused. 'Yes. Her. Don't tell me! You have a thing for her, don't you?' He turned back to Jon. 'She's at Winterfell too, isn't she? The gods are having a merry jape!' he snorted.

Jon shoved Tormund away and grabbed the Hound's tunic, twisting it at the neck and trying to shake him. Sandor Clegane merely smirked down at his attempts, making Jon angrier. 'You will call my sisters by their proper names and if I ever hear you talking about Sansa as if you... as if she... !' he sputtered wrathfully.

'As if I was her fool and she was my lady?' Clegane supplied helpfully.

Jon pulled his fist back to punch the beast in the face but Tormund grabbed him from behind and the Hound ducked away, convulsing with laughter.

'Let me go, Tormund! I will rip the rest of his face off! ' Jon struggled frantically to free himself from the Wildling's grip. 'No one talks about Sansa like that! If I ever find out that you so much as laid a finger on her, I'll rip your head off! She's been through enough!'

The Hound suddenly looked grim. 'Joffrey and Cersei were shitty towards her. She was the kindest person I'd ever met, always courteous and helping others even when she was a prisoner. Hells, she was nice to me at my worst. I saved her from a mob but I couldn't save her from the Lannisters. I tried to take her away from King's Landing on the night the Blackwater burned and bring her to Riverrun but she wouldn't come. I was drunk out of my mind and frightened her so much she probably didn't believe me. Then they married her to the Imp,' he spat out with venom in his rasping voice. 'I always wondered where she flew off to after Joff choked to death at his own wedding. You say she came to Winterfell. How?'

Jon had stilled while the Hound was talking, intent upon his words. Everyone was listening, fascinated by the emotion on Sandor's face, twisting his scars horribly.

'Lord Baelish smuggled her out of King's Landing during the confusion of Joffrey's murder,' Jon said and when he saw the effect these words had on the former Lannister man, he continued slowly, carefully, 'He took her to her aunt in the Vale and then arranged her marriage to Roose Bolton's son after her death. He brought Sansa to Winterfell and left her with the Boltons before the wedding. Sansa escaped afterwards to find me at the Wall and we took the North back from the Boltons. With Baelish's help,' he added as the Hound turned almost purple. He'd left out most of the story but he could tell that Sandor Clegane had filled in the blanks correctly.

Jon waited. The other men understood that something important had just passed between the King in the North and the Hound and they also held their breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh! Still no letter! Seriously, these characters are getting completely out of hand. But I am intrigued by what Jon is suddenly up to.  
> 


	3. The Revelation and the Extrapolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took so long and the chapter is a bit on the short side. Real life interfered with a vengeance. Thankfully, I now have time to indulge in my little hobby once more. So, without further ado...

"Littlefucker, eh? You left him with her in Winterfell?" Clegane rasped, appearing disgusted at Jon's actions.  
  
A slow flush heated Jon's skin.  
  
"I have left her in Lady Brienne and my direwolf's care," responded Jon defensively.  
  
The Hound seemed unconvinced. "Fat lot of good that'll do. That little ferret doesn't deal in direct approaches. He's wily. I was there when he turned against your father. The knife that piece of shit held to Lord Stark's throat didn't appear until he was behind him, surrounded by the Gold Cloaks whose loyalty he had paid for."  
  
Shock rippled through Jon's mind and bereft him of words. Almost everyone immediately stiffened with the significance of what Sandor Clegane had just revealed.  
  
"But you were one of those who helped in Eddard Stark's downfall." It was Jorah Mormont who finally broke the silence. His words were accusatory but his tone was curious.

Clegane turned his way and regarded him silently for a moment before stating calmly, "I was a Lannister man, sworn to Cersei and her vicious brat. Baelish used his connection to the Tully sisters to worm his way into Ned Stark's trust, then betrayed them all." He looked back at Jon. "From what I've heard, Lysa Arryn died suspiciously soon after he wed her and now you tell me the little bird was with him at the Vale. That means she was there when it happened?"  
  
Jon managed to find his voice. "Yes. Sansa... She wouldn't speak of it but Lord Royce told me that a singer killed Lady Lysa in a jealous fit. He told me Sansa... " he hesitated. "She testified in his trial as she was with her aunt when the singer pushed her to her death. Lord Royce was unable to attend the trial but his cousin was one of those who sat in judgement and gave him the details. You think Littlefinger had something to do with this?" he asked cautiously.  
  
The Hound was suddenly bristling with emotion. "The little bird witnessed it?! And where was Lord Littlefinger?" he growled.  
  
Jon's mind was whirling and he was suddenly restless, wanting to take off for Winterfell at once and banish Littlefinger as far away from Sansa as he could. "I never thought to ask. Gods help me!"  
  
"But... Are you saying that your sister lied to protect her aunt's true murderer?" Ser Jorah inquired, extremely curious about the story unfolding before him.  
  
Jon and Sandor Clegane abruptly turned toward him, Jon's hand reaching for Longclaw and closing upon air since he had taken off his sword to dine, while Clegane was cracking his knuckles menacingly at Ser Jorah.  
  
Jorah Mormont put up his hands in a conciliating gesture. "I meant no disrespect. I do not know the young lady at all and am merely trying to make sense of what you are talking of."

"You might not know her Mormont but believe me when I say that I know her and, what's more, I know Littlefinger. If she lied for him he was surely coercing her. And if she still hasn't told the truth then it can only be because she is afraid. That sneaky bastard could always convince people to see things his way. The whole Keep knew of his obsession with Lady Catelyn and the way he looked at her daughter? I'm guessing he took her to the Vale to get her all to himself and having her lie about her aunt's murder..."  
  
"It would bind her to him in a way she couldn't escape," Ser Davos finished for him. "Stannis never liked him nor his ability to influence Robert to his way of thinking, which was neither moral nor good for the realm. Apparently, he became Master of Coin through Lord Arryn's good graces but there was some talk at court about Lady Arryn's fondness for him. Yes, it would appear that Lord Baelish knew how to make use of people. But he miscalculated with the Boltons. What was he hoping to achieve by tying Lady Sansa to that monster? What is so terrible that your lady sister will not speak even now after his actions put her in that evil man's power? Your Grace, you must write Lady Sansa immediately and give her some inkling of his betrayal of your father. It will help her loosen his grasp upon her. If he truly brought about Lord Eddard's downfall then he cannot be trusted at either Winterfell or the Vale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no letter! Jon and Sandor refuse to behave! What's a poor writer to do?  
> I've already written most of the next chapter and will hopefully update soon.  
> For those of you wondering, Marillion is a book character who also appeared briefly during season 1 in Cat and Tyrion's Vale storyline. In Book 3, Marillion was in the High Hall when Littlefinger pushed Lysa. Littlefinger had him tortured into making a false confession. I dislike how the show handles Baelish and decided to include the smarter book version of events surrounding Lysa's death for reasons that will unfold with the story.  
> Cheers!


	4. Split Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly for your lovely comments and kudos! They are life-givers to fanfiction writers!

If Jon had been agitated before, Clegane and Davos' mapping of events had filled him with a furious energy that would have propelled him towards the door if Davos hadn't stopped him. "Your Grace, you cannot leave now. You have a mission to complete. Lady Sansa is a very intelligent young woman and will make use of this information wisely. Unfortunately, we have a much bigger threat on our hands than Lord Baelish."   
  
Jon looked at him furiously. "He betrayed my father to his death and misused my sister in the vilest way. I will not rest until his head adorns Winterfell's battlements," he said in a voice shaking with rage.   
  
"You promised to bring my Queen proof of the White Walkers. If what you say of them is true then we cannot delay. This matter will have to wait," Ser Jorah stood up and argued.

"Fuck the White Walkers!" bellowed the Hound. "You lot can go find them, I'm going to the little bird." He addressed Jon,"Send her that raven and me after it. I'll give her the details in person and swear myself to her protection. It's what I should have done before. And you can bet I won't underestimate that rat bastard."  
  
Davos and Jorah were right. The mission was important but for the life of him he couldn't believe it was more important than Sansa's well-being. After all, had he not been willing to abandon Westeros to the coming Night, and Winterfell with it, until she had convinced him to stay and fight? None of these men knew how much she had done, what she must have sacrificed in order to bring the North back under Stark rule, the only family capable of preparing the realm for the approaching storm. He could not set her safety aside. He took in a deep, ragged breath, running his hands over his face and head in frustration. For he knew that convincing Daenerys and Cersei to cease fighting each other was for the same reason: to protect Sansa and now Arya and Bran as well, to keep their beloved home secure.   
  
Jon considered the Hound's earnest desperation twisting his burnt features, his grey eyes revealing his concern for Sansa. For the first time since their contretemps, Jon wondered at Sandor Clegane's feelings towards his sisters, particularly Sansa, with something approaching assessment. He had talked of Arya in a fond, almost paternal tone but there was a different sort of fondness when he spoke of Sansa. That was why Jon had almost attacked him in the first place and it still made his hackles rise. Would Sansa welcome his presence or would she curse her half-brother's decision?  
  
Despite his need for haste, Jon forced himself to slow down. "I have to think what the best course of action will be. I will send the raven to Winterfell first with a warning and then I'll inform you of my decision," he addressed the room. The group gazed back at him with varying expressions of exasperation and consternation.   
  
"Don't take too long, lad. We need that wight before the Others get here. It's a dangerous enough plan to begin with and we don't want to be running into the whole army of dead men Beyond the Wall," Tormund cautioned.

"I understand. But this is truly important, Tormund. I don't want to risk Littlefinger undermining our cause in whatever infernal way he can devise. Sansa is already wary of him but if he has any sort of power over her and she defies him openly for it, I don't know what he'll do. He killed Father for Lady Catelyn, I'm sure of it. And just before I set out for Dragonstone, he confessed his 'love' for Sansa comparing it with his love for her mother," he spat in disgust. "It was so revolting I almost choked the life out of him."  
  
Tormund chuckled at this. "Of course you did, lad! Don't have to tell us when 'tis a certainty you would have. Har!"  
  
Jon was a bit taken aback but Davos was merely amused. "What is that supposed to mean? I don't make a habit of choking men, believe it or not! Death is a serious business, particularly now!"  
  
Tormund just grinned wider. "Oh, I never said anything about killing! It's just that you don't like men insulting your sister."  
  
"Or mentioning her name!" Davos smiled indulgently, exchanging a look with Tormund. "'Twas a near thing for poor Theon Greyjoy and Tyrion Lannister back at Dragonstone."  
  
Tormund let out a bellow of laughter, while everyone else looked amused. Only Jorah and Sandor had speculative glints in their eyes, making Jon inwardly squirm with embarrassment. He squashed an urge to defend himself, putting on his lord's face.  
  
"Enough! Maester Harmune!" He abruptly addressed the man quietly sipping the watery stew at another table. "Give me writing materials and direct me to your library. I will soon have a letter for you to dispatch."  
  
"At once, your grace!" The maester hurriedly tipped the rest of his stew down his throat and scrambled to his feet, leading the King in the North out of the hall with barely a glance of permission towards his Wildling commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we can move on to the letter!


	5. Sister Dearest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally updating! I've been thwarted by real life and seriously distracted by some of the best writing in the Jon/Sansa community ever! Thank you to all those writers for your love and generosity and to the all-important readers who give validation to our efforts by reading, liking, commenting. I love you all!

Jon settled himself into the chair behind the small writing desk.

The Eastwatch library was much smaller than the one at Castle Black. This was likely more due to practical reasons than lack of access since this was where the Night's Watch had the best access to knowledge and goods from the rest of the world. Even Wildlings had traded with the Watch at this port despite the hatred and suspicion between them.

The air in this castle on the Bay of Seals was damp and salty. Consequently, most of the books were sent on to Castle Black for safekeeping in the dry climate.

Jon looked around and wondered if Sam had found the time to visit this library before setting sail for Oldtown.

Jon missed his dear friend's companionship and advice. Much more so now that he wasn't with Sansa than before. Ser Davos was a worthy man but he didn't know Jon the way Sam did. He smiled fondly as he remembered the anger, shock and grim satisfaction in Sam's reply to Jon's raven informing him of his death, resurrection and re-taking of the North. He was glad that Sam was taking the time to look up pertinent information for the defeat of the Others but he wished Sam would take his maester's training seriously. Without having forged any chains, Sam's knowledge was vast. With it, Jon knew, Sam would be formidable, a maester worthy of advising and serving any great kingdom. Sansa, for one, would do everything in her power to have him in Winterfell. She was not one to waste intelligence and loyalty or to let such qualities go unrewarded.

He covered his face with both hands and took a deep, long breath. He wondered for the thousandth time why he had been made king. He knew why he had accepted. Ambition, desire, validation, protectiveness. And possibly worst of all: possessiveness. All of these tangled up in his wishes from his bastard past and his current feelings for his lady sister.

He slid his hands into his hair, gripping it hard for a moment before letting the ends fall free. He had probably ruined the setting of his knot and would have to retie it before setting out once more. For now, he pulled Sansa's now-crumpled letter out of his sleeve where he had quickly stowed it when Tormund had begun ribbing him at the dining table. Remembering the conversations that had followed, he hastily opened it.

As his eyes scanned his sister's elegant hand, a sheepish grin lightened the tenseness around his mouth.

_My dearest brother,_   
_Don't do it. You're being stupidly heroic again. And I'm telling you, if you get yourself killed again, I will find Lady Melisandre to bring you back and I will murder you myself since you're so fond of this activity. You're not fooling me, Jon Snow. I know why you haven't come to Winterfell. You know that I'd tie you up and throw you in a dungeon before letting you go on this hare-brained non-scheme to get a wight for Cersei. CERSEI! I know Cersei better than all of you fools! She will use this as an opportunity to stab the lot of you morons in the back. She is losing this war, Jon. This armistice will just give her time to get back on her feet. What was Tyrion thinking, allowing this to happen? Whose fool plan was this anyway? It was the Dragon Queen, wasn't it? She saw your selfless heroism (stupidly going yourself when you could send an envoy) and decided to let you die beyond the Wall instead of doing it herself, keeping her hands clean. Why couldn't she just fly her dragons north of the Wall to see the threat for herself from a position of safety, maybe swooping down to pick up a wight or two? Just why, Jon? The Northern council is becoming restless. Even Lady Mormont is dubious of your long absence. Littlefinger will be convincing them to take away your crown soon enough. And what do I tell Arya and Bran? They are waiting here for you. Please come home, Jon. I miss you. I'm also very worried about our siblings. They are acting very strangely. I don't know how to handle them. I need you, dear brother. This is your opportunity. You have escaped Dragonstone. Now come home and we can discuss the problem of the two Queens and how to deal with them. Don't you dare go on this stupid quest without telling me the full details of your plan yourself. Because I know you, Jon Snow. You don't have a plan, do you?_   
_Your exasperated sister,_   
_Sansa._

A wistful sigh escaped Jon's lips. He wished he could return to Winterfell. He wanted to reassure and argue the merits of the mission with Sansa in a part of their home where they couldn't be overheard. He wished he could hug Arya tightly, ruffle her hair and tell her that he loved her and how much he had missed her. He wished he could hold Bran and tell him how sorry he was that he wasn't at Winterfell when Theon had taken it, forcing him and Rickon into exile. He wished they could all be together once more to celebrate their homecoming and to mourn their lost family, particularly little Rickon, struck down by a monster just outside their home.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and scanned the letter once more, focusing on silly things that heartened him like the underlined 'need' and the scolding tone pervading the writing. He had missed Sansa when he was on Dragonstone, not least because her letters had been formal and careful, no doubt due to her suspicion that all ravens to and from the King in the North would be read by the Dragon Queen's spymaster. She had been right, of course, as she usually was. He wished he had listened to her; he could have been with her right now and helped with whatever strangeness she was dealing with with Arya and Bran.

Jon tightened his fists against the longing for home, for his family, for Sansa's tall, confident form by his side and tried to concentrate on what needed to be done.

Jon pulled a blank piece of parchment towards himself and dipped a quill into the dark inkpot, contemplating what he could safely put to paper, knowing that Littlefinger could get his hands on it before Sansa. The maester at Winterfell was new, imported from the Dreadfort by Roose Bolton and, therefore, untrustworthy with confidential information until proven otherwise. Sansa would only have sent off such an informal letter if she had been present to see it off, directly from her own hands to the raven's leg.

Theon's mismanaged conquest of Winterfell had been responsible for the incomparable loss of Maester Luwin whose loyalty to their family had been undisputed. The castle servants had told Jon and Sansa how Luwin's dead body had been found slumped against the heart tree with a fatal stab to his heart, his blood anointing the ground and dripping into the dark pool. It was obvious he had been wounded in the carnage in the keep but had somehow made his way to the godswood, only to be killed there. It was a minor mystery amongst the people of Winterfell which they hadn't had much time to think on, but it had given Jon and Sansa something else to wonder on.

Once more Jon gritted his teeth against the yearning tugging his heart towards Winterfell and turned his concentration to writing home instead. He needed to decide whether to send the Hound or Davos to Sansa.The Hound's presence would put Littlefinger on his guard while also bolstering the number of his family's personal bodyguard. But such a move could provoke Littlefinger to drastic action, to find a way to harm either his family or the alliance with the Vale. On the other hand, Sandor Clegane was too valuable a witness to waste on this ill-conceived plan to capture a wight for Daenerys and Cersei. Whether he sent him to Winterfell or not, it was clear to Jon that he could not risk Clegane's life beyond the Wall even though a warrior of his calibre would be an undeniable boon on their 'hare-brained non-scheme'.

A little smile of amusement tilted the corners of Jon's lips as he finally bent his head over the blank parchment.

_My Lady Sansa_

He stopped and carefully worked out how formal and tense he could make the letter without it being unbelievable for Littlefinger. There needed to be some fondness, of course, since he had tried to choke the little weasel for drooling after Sansa, but, as per Sansa's instructions, he had tried to steadily show a growing chilliness towards her over the course of his absence. Jon hadn't thought that it would actually be that long but, once more, the Lady of Winterfell had been right. In the end, he thought he could get away with being completely formal and even a bit snippy.

_While I understand your objections regarding our current enterprise, I must stress the importance of convincing the queens with proof of the threat Beyond the Wall. It seems you are rather unconvinced of it yourself and so it falls upon me to win support through the results of this venture._

There. That should convince Littlefinger that he wasn't happy with Sansa's supposed lack of faith in him. He dipped his quill in the ink and resumed writing, having finally hit upon a plan to send Clegane to Winterfell in disguise, based on one of the conversations he had overheard in the Hall.

_No more about this. I have no time to spare before leaving. Be assured, my dear sister, that I will be home once more to unburden you from the duties of running the North. In the meantime, I have found here at Eastwatch a septon anointed at the Quiet Isle in search of a post and I am sending him on to you so you may re-open your lady mother's sept and once more pray to the new gods. You might even pray for my success. Give my love to our siblings and tell them I will hurry home to gather them in my arms._

Jon signed it simply with his full name, no 'dears' or 'yours' like he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jon! How he misses his family!   
> Thank you for reading.


	6. A Necessary Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter. I feel it needs something more but I've delayed too long. So, without further ado...

Jon finished sanding and sealing his letter, Sansa's secure in the left breast pocket of the doublet she had sewn for him.

  
He was in the process of retying his hair knot when Maester Harmune came hurrying in. Before Jon could hand him the letter for Winterfell, the maester handed him another small roll of parchment.

  
''From Winterfell, your grace!''

  
Jon quickly unfolded the missive, his heart suddenly thudding with apprehension, for what could have occured for another raven from Winterfell so soon after the first one?

  
_Jon,_   
_Bran has just told me that I must send you more men and provisions as soon as possible for your mission. He wants me to tell you to wait for them to get there before you leave. He says that this delay will not cost you as much as going without them. I cannot tell you how he knows this. That is a conversation for when you return. Because it will take too long for men from Winterfell to reach you, I have taken Ned Umber and Alys Karstark into my confidence and they have dispatched instructions to the Last Hearth and Karhold to send men and supplies to Eastwatch. Take them with you, leaving directions for the men from Winterfell to follow behind. No one else here knows of this yet, and I have set Arya the task of distracting Littlefinger while I see this through so that even if he discovers the location of these ravens he cannot interfere too much. Please Jon! I beg you to take heed of Bran. The plan is still stupid but at least this way the mssion has more chances of success and of your safe return._   
_Sansa_

 

It was obvious Sansa had written and dispatched this note in a hurry. Her usual elegant meticulousness was missing. Jon shook his head slightly, trying to focus instead on the message rather than absorbing Sansa's adorable fluster in order to aid him.

 

Wait. Bran said to wait.

 

Sansa had made peace with his decision about young Ned and Alys in order to send him aid. She had somehow dealt with Bran and Aryas 'strangeness' in an incredibly short amount of time to help him.

 

Feeling rather light-headed, Jon looked at Maester Harmune rather absently.

 

''Sire?''

 

'How does Bran know...?' Jon's mind circled back to this hint of something mysterious and ominous.

 

He scanned the letter once more and finally managed to grasp the seriousness of Bran's demand. The letter gave no clue about how long it would take for the Umber and Karstark men to get there. Maybe a day or two.

 

Seven hells! He didn't have that much time! The fact that the Others' army hadn't yet made it to the Wall from Hardhome was extremely troubling. It could only be to raise a bigger force and Jon was already very apprehensive about their mission to catch a single wight for the two queens.

 

Sansa was right about Cersei. He already knew this from all that he had heard about that woman. But Daenerys had dragons. She _had_ to be convinced. He would have bent the knee to her already if he wasn't sure that she wouldn't head North without assurances from Cersei, however false they were. _Could_ he afford to wait?

 

'I beg you...' Sansa had written and just like that he made his decision. The extra men and supplies would be invaluable and would ensure that these men would see the threat of the Others themselves. This would finally convince the Northern lords, for he was sure they still doubted (Littlefinger probably helping along) the word of the Free Folk and the Night's Watch.

 

He finally focused his gaze upon the patiently waiting maester.

 

''I need to add a postscript to my letter for Winterfell. And then I want you to send it off immediately.''

 

****

 

The news of the delay went down well with the party assembled in the hall for the mission.

 

All except...

 

''The Queen will not be happy at us dallying about here. She has a war to fight,'' Ser Jorah asserted.

 

''I am aware,'' Jon's voice held that trace of bitterness at having been kept forcibly for months on Dragonstone while Daenerys waged her war. ''But this is a beneficial delay,'' he continued. ''Extra men and arms give us a better chance of completing this mission successfully. Your father barely staved off an attack by the White Walkers' army at the Fist of the First Men, a good, defensive position and he had three hundred men with him. At that time, the enemy was scant compared to what it must be by now and he only escaped with forty men.''

 

Ser Jorah's eyes had widened. ''My father... '' He broke off, unable to go on.

 

''Ser Jorah, I know you don't believe me, but I hope you won't think I'm lying about why your father gave me House Mormont's ancestral sword.'' Jon saw Ser Jorah's eyes wander to the hilt of Longclaw and his lips tighten. ''I saved your father from a wight that tried to kill him at Castle Black. That threat is the reason I didn't desert my post at the Wall and ride South to join my family's war against the Lannisters. This sword is the reason that I know how to kill White Walkers, ser.''

 

Ser Jorah looked away from Jon and said in a quiet tone, ''Samwell Tarly was with him when he died. He told me my father forgave me and bade me return North and join the Night's Watch.'' He turned back to Jon. ''Tarly told me about the Others while he was treating me. He told me about my father, though not about the sword. I believed him.''

 

''You believed Sam?'' Jon was astonished. ''Why didn't you add your voice to mine before your Queen?''

 

Jorah sighed and looked down. ''Because I have been exiled from her side before for betraying her in the beginning. I did not think another Northman's word would convince that room full of skeptical southerners and foreigners.'' He looked up again. ''I only came along so I could be part of something that my father wanted. And, of course, to see to it that you didn't abandon my Queen by escaping to Winterfell,'' he smirked slightly at Jon.

 

Ser Davos snorted. ''If his grace had wanted to do that, we would be long gone, not hanging around here discussing logistics,'' he retorted. ''Lady Sansa has sent us some much-needed relief and we would be wise to make use of it.''

 

''As the commander of this post, I agree,'' Tormund spoke up, quite serious for once. ''I was at Hardhome with Jon Snow when the White Walkers attacked the Free Folk taking refuge there. I'd come across these wights before but never in such numbers and never with their masters with them. Pissed my breeches, I did! Yer lady sister's fire-kissed, for sure, Snow! But there's more comes out her noggin than just lucky hair! Har!''

 

And just like that, Tormund's irreverence was back, except there seemed to be a note of pride in his voice.

 

Jon didn't elaborate on _why_ Sansa had sent them support; he just nodded his agreement of Tormund's assessment, smiling slightly.

 

''That's no secret since she survived both the Lannisters and Boltons,'' the Hound rasped. ''So, your grace. What's your verdict about me?''

 

''Come with me,'' Jon replied. ''I need to talk to you about that.''

 

Sandor Clegane grinned as he left the hall in the King's wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The travel timelines are not going to make much sense and I tried to figure out how long it would take for each party to arrive and this is why I delayed finishing this chapter for so long. Then I realized that D&D are so bad at plotting this stuff, I couldn't possibly be worse. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone's kind comments and kudos.
> 
> Cheers.


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